early evening, and the moneygod has now released his lackey goblin to his own devices, usually meaning a tromp to the bistro, a coffee and the "last post" threads where, caffeine and WIFI permitting, the goblin will regain some semblance of sanity simply by trying to write his dailylife all out of his system, yet the more the goblin wrote about dailylife, the more that disparity became obvious to him, his dailylife wasn't his sum total then, but against that it was as if that line "what in ones life is worth posting" just bugged him knowing that the moment the goblin replied to himself "...nothing, so I won't post anymore..." that the goblin would simply be dead before his death too, another mind drowned in its dailylife

"...simply, you and I are anonymous, the number of posts, the hit rate, and all the other paraphernalia which goes up to create any member on a site actually means nothing because nothing can be proved here, nothing except the fact that I am writing this and you are reading it..." said the goblin whose goal remained to know himself from what he posted, adding "...you can't know the future, there is no way to know it because it is not here yet, but perhaps one can know oneself, because oneself is here all the time..."

repost from elsewhere, where the there thread was locked and then reopened

"...ah but I don't exist, nor is this my thread here..." mentioned the goblin now, repeating "...the thread is just one in fifty active "last post" threads, where, as a "live writer", I contribute to it in my turn without really caring what happens for exactly the reason you saw here, which could happen at whim anytime...", the goblin smiled, for he meant well but he had still nothing to prove or defend here, saying "...simply you do understand now, that this internet has less permanence than your life does, so why then worry about whether some thread is locked, deleted, or even earns one a ban, where surely ones goal here is just to know oneself by what ones posts...", the goblin was merely pointing out that if he couldn't walk away from this whenever, then he wasn't really anonymous at all, for somehow it still owned him

repost from elsewhere, two live writers, encouraging a their who had just started

in fact I suspect, indeed expect, wondrous things... and bright to post here? Hardly, post anything, it's random, just be a writer"

the goblin loved that line, made his day he felt, saying "...so true, so much so that sometimes one shocks oneself even, it's like those long moments late at night where the mind is in "deep think" mode, and one picks through a pile of thoughts again, till one finds something that seems to go somewhere, following it, typing it down, rubbing it half out, retyping, editing again, and on it flows in the slot, like so many advancing waves of an incoming tide, written/rubbed out partly, repeated and finished..." continuing "...only that it's not finished at all, it just been born now, oh yes it needs it's picture, but more importantly, it needs reposting, and all that editing that that entails, maybe dozens of times too...", this then was what "live writing" was about, the cutting and polishing of ones posts, keeping them alive by it

the email reads that the goblin's mother (86 years old) might not be able to swallow, the goblin understood that the family would bulk at having her force fed with tubes, so the goblin replied to his father typing "...I know we hope that we haven't yet reached that point but, as always, simply I go along in supporting any decision you take or plans you make, also I think going naturally "without distress" is what my mother would have wanted if one was talking to her before this illness took her reason away from her, so I imagine there isn't anyone who wouldn't wish to go out in dignity so your decision for her would be once more the correct one for her here I feel..." and with that the goblin had to choose another postcard to write to his mother again as she would like to see pictures of the mountains, while dad, when he received it, would then read it to her if she was awake but what was written on the postcard didn't matter, only that she would feel that something nice had happened, the postcard seemed another slot asking for feeding "...so slot shall we tell her of the flowers in bloom, the blue sky and the breeze that floats the clouds across the Alps then..." "...goblin, let me swallow for her then..." said the slot now in a whisper

repost from elsewhere, someone who had written about a death in her family

the goblin just offered his condolences knowing that he would read anything the poster wrote here now, saying "...I am good at listening then..." and somehow the goblin knew that each happening like this was just wrestling an angel, and these angels were not there to be nice, they were there to help one shine in ones reflection against them, "... and of course ones reflections doesn't have to be shared here, but they do have to be formed, don't they then, or that angel, whichever one it was, was wasted on you..." mentioned the goblin listening as ever

"...ah but can one afford ones own strength indefinitely then..." asked the goblin now, somehow seeing that america's weakness was exactly this then, that is, it's inability to pay for long term commitment aboard, saying "...well, my guess is that every tyrant on this planet now sees the US financial constraints, over any new open ended commitment abroad that is, as something which allows them to act with impunity towards their own subjects...", simply history had shown examples of where some protectorate situation had weakened both the protector, and the protected alike, to the extent that some retraction of empire later occurred, the goblin just concluded "...so those tyrants are sitting pretty today, they can just continue to oppress their citizens on the one hand, while claiming aid for them with the other..."

"...what we have here..." started the goblin hesitantly, but continuing "...is live writing, where the trick with "live writing" of course, is to repost ones stuff across sites, like this post here from elsewhere then, where each time the original is aired, edited and backed up, simply air/edit/backup, that's all...", at which point the goblin remembered that no one was actually forced down this path with him, explaining "...ah but, by the time you've got someone to see some lone post you've done in a blog on a site somewhere, just imagine how many more people will have seen it if you were to repost to in the same type thread across fifty forums on a random thread of the games section too...", but that was the goblin for you, many thought he was just mad, saying "...oh but I am mad, come dance with me now, or return whence you came, for our lives are short and life's clock ticks away our moments..."

repost from elsewhere, a biker's "ramdom stuff" thread, the goblin in self defense

the wizard will mess you up with your own word's weirdo ...

"...nah, you should look at what the wizard says before you say that then, he's saying here that the more intelligent are modest about it..." explained the goblin now, adding "...and o how the inconspicuous intelligence must abound us now, as something like antimatter, unseen yes, but still there because the wizard's theory tells us that it is, but I'll let you both into a little secret now, "the emperor wears no clothes" here, to date I've only seen one writer type amongst you now who, admittedly, seems wiser than those who post here, and yet not as wise as those who don't post here...", but the goblin didn't care for wisdom at all, he cared for imaginative madness, saying "...ah yes, at the end of the day the wise are often weighed down by their wisdom and simply leave nothing to show for it, where some writer's folly is what you read is it not..."

the goblin walks into the psychiatrist's studio, "...hello, what can we do for you Mr....,..." says the receptionist waiting for him to fill in the blanc of his name "... fleamailman, as in the "insect" with "post" and "man"..." replies the goblin looking around at the usual row of elbowless chairs set hard up against the wall in front of that standard coffee table with its pile of scruffy fashion magazines, the goblin hesitantly continues "...well miss..." stopping to find the words for a moment distracted, then lifting his gaze up from the gap between her blouse buttons, "...actually I am having doubts about my internet-self, moreover, I get the feeling that my muse is mad..." blurts out the goblin, as if confessing to something, "...oh I see..." the usual off the cuff reply she makes while looking quickly down to the piece of paper for the goblin's name again "...well, Mr. Fleabatman..." as her hand moves towards the drawer, where those blanc "case forms" are, stops, rests her hand on the table, then, vaguely interested asks “...but surely, that doesn't make you disfunctional in real life so where's the problem here...", "...yes miss, that's what the Muse keeps telling me too, oh, and naturally that greedy Slot would say anything just to get fed again wouldn't he..." the goblin answered noticing her hand once more moving towards the drawer again, he continues "...fact is I am not sure if a certain divergence between "dailylife" with "common sense" really merits madness, I mean most people, in that way, would be mad I suppose, otherwise their dailylifes would be mad if they themselves weren't mad that is...", a degree of certainty crept into her actions as she starts to write out the goblin's "case form" smugly saying "...well, that's why our psychiatrist deals with disfunctionality rather than open madness Mr fleabatman...", "...well there you go, Miss Barbiedoll here has said it, goblin..." butts in the Muse continuing “...and, since you're a paragon of subservient functional conformity if ever there was one, there's nothing wrong with you is there, can we leave now please..." the goblin gorps at the receptionist "...goblin, can I swallow this down yet, I,m hungry..." says Slot sensing the goblin's gorp at the receptionist had something to with male hormone braindeath again, Slot just gulped anyway, "...you know if there weren't two of them, anyone would think you had a "one tracked mind" goblin.." as the muse places her hands on his ears form behind and gently lifts his head, and moreover his gaze, back to the receptionist's face, "...yes Muse but she has a wonderful pair of, ouch..." the Muse's nails take a vengeance on the goblin's scalp, adding "...goblin, now just say your excuses to Miss Barbiedoll there and let's go...", "...now Mr Fleabatman, if you will just take a seat I will call our disfunctionality specialist who will no doubt be delighted to see you in a moment, meanwhile let me just get you a coffee..." as she walks in front of the now skipping zombie following her with outstretched arms behind her behind "...hear that Muse, a coffee, she's human after all, now if this joint has WIFI we can just set up my laptop and check my emails from those "last post" thread, etc.,...", "...wow now that's more like it goblin..." the muse changed to her euphoric self again "...oh yes, I can see it now goblin, my name in lights goblin, the paparazzi, those cameras, immortality too..." as the Muse jumps onto the goblin's back, kicks and rides the goblin's mind headlong into the screen in a giant leap, "...yes, go for it my goblin, all hands to the keyboard, "open Slotemy" and away with us..." she bellows as the internal scene completes its teleportation whereas outside a now gyrating zombie bobs his head up and down to Gothic music while the forgotten receptionist returns with his posting fuel, his "computer/coffee/self" triangle complete, his forcefield up and functional, the slot just gulped down the scene again, alas there was no cure it seemed

Something within me then fears all that they call "organized religion" for the fact that it organized, and thus trying to organize one too, saying "...how often do I feel that religion is an excuse not to find out for oneself then, and that ones connection within, to that which has always been there, is just ignored because of compliant towing of the given line here, and no, I won't believe in, nor go somewhere closer, nor pay something towards , anything outside of me, when you and I know it to be just "there within one without those preconditions" then..."

"...the average American, perhaps like most people on this earth for that matter, prefers to follow the symbolism rather than the actual substance of politics, that is, real everyday politics unfolds too slowly, and without enough fanfare, for them to take note, let alone comprehend, here..." mentioned the goblin, adding "...for example, which media mentions that one in ten in the US is on food stamps now, or tells you that more Americans go to prison than university today, or of the failing to meet the budget, or that the recession isn't over by a long chalk, etc., no, it's not the media's fault, it's just that everyday politics is either far too boring, or too constant, to be enticing media news, so no, what we get in it's place is fanfare politics, an exotic war on terrorism, state visits, foreign affairs, and the like, in short, we get those very distractions, that we ourselves want, to make "politics" all the more palatable here, while that which is crucially important in this political/economic situation passes beneath it, too slowly to register on the radar here but happening anyway..."

repost from elsewhere, the topic of immigration legal or otherwise in the US

watching from the sidelines, the goblin appreciated both sides of the argument, knowing that all could agree that things couldn't remain as they are, and that some breaking point was coming, and that authoritarianism of one sort or another was probably going to result from it too, saying "...good, bad or whatever, the myth that we can become rich under this present system is wearing thin here, and if history is anything to go by, those who had flooded in will flood out, if only out of fear of being on the wrong side of that xenophobia which erupts in resentment towards the system each time, and yes, america hasn't come anywhere near that point as yet maybe, but there are countless places in the world where it happened overnight, and usually in those very places where it was thought most unlikely, yet where too, resentment had been slowly simmering over many decades it seems.."

"...nah, it's best not to hold great hopes towards british politics now..." advised the goblin, continuing "...you see, in the states, it's more dynamic and decisive, like "shoot first and ask questions later", whereas in iran it's just "shoot and don't ask questions" but in britain it's "keep asking questions, row over this that and the next thing, tea and fruitcake anyone, questions anyone now, and how is aunt meg's lumbago"..."

"...so I guess you're not reading this either..." ventured the goblin adding "...besides, if one actually makes a list of everything and everyone who doesn't read my posts, starting from basic inanimate objects like chairs, tables, doors, etc., perhaps leading on to animals like dogs, cats, chimps, etc., on to certain humans into facebook, twitter, or MTV, together with other humans who are either too young, stupid, illiterate, or senile, on up to you now, one soon sees just how great a loss that actually is to me..." in fact, the goblin never minded who didn't read his posts and ignored him, no he cared for those not on that list then

"...ah now, I am on your side or I wouldn't be here..." replied the goblin again, aware that he was amongst others here who had probably heard of the "live writing" scene on this internet now, explaining "...ask yourself something, I mean, for each poster who actually reads an entry in your blog, how many more will read this post here...", to which, since far more people read these threads than individual blogs, the answer has to be "many", the goblin continued "...perhaps, in that case we need a random thread where each of us can contribute together, a round table so to speak..." the goblin paused, sipped his coffee, and then dived into something else, saying "...so back in the victorian age, it wasn't books that they most readers were eager to read was it, no, I mean neither dickens nor doyle actually kept their readers on tentahooks with books, no it was with episodes in journals, of that golden age of victorian journals no less, that they did it, and today then, with this internet, what have we now I wonder...", and with that the goblin left off with a smile, knowing that either the others, if they replied at all, would either argue content, or attack his persona, but "live writers" usually kept it to about ten lines max, simply they wrote inside their posts, where their readership often rivaled a small book, much like the goblin's readership did

the goblin is redoing today those habits of yesterday before he redoes them again tomorrow, saying "..."force of habit" is a prison that doesn't need bars...", to which the goblin then added "...what changes with time is ones ability, and ones perspective with it, otherwise it the same thing year after year..." not that the goblin minded where there was no choice in that one had to eat, sleep, bath and the like, but there were other less obvious habits that, if not seen to, would simply continue unseen like that skin cancer that one doesn't feel until it is too late, "...me, I'm stocktaking my habits this morning..." replied the goblin in answer to the question "what are you doing", and the list of habits was extensive

"...I cried too..." replied the goblin, adding "...but I guess, what with you're nam-vet background, all would have been clearer to you, you knew well that for some families who weren't shown in that video, the outcome was so tragically different, simply, most viewers from civistreet haven't got a clue what soldiers and their families go through now, they only see media coverage of warzones, where they don't realized that the soldier their viewing on the screen is actually a man with his family, no, they see action, excitement, whatever, but not the real context here...", and with that, the goblin then pinched the video, saying "...ah, but we're not to be trusted, though you know me by now, I can't resist true beauty when I've seen it..."

ah, the goblin always hid himself behind some lax grammar usage, saying "...no, it's always "what one posts of oneself to oneself here", isn't it, as I very much doubt those readers are ever going understand one fully, if only because they're right, these words remain mere representations of self here, but that's the whole joy of this "live writing" on random threads, simply one corrects the originals in their reposting across forumland each time, again and again and again, till some residue becomes you to yourself, or as near as one can ever get to oneself by these words that merely represent then...", "...so that's his goal then, actually I just thought he was quite mad..." went the voice in the background now, "...well both perhaps..." replied the goblin about it

"...if that is so, I suppose the question then would be "would you like to think only normally then"..." wondered the goblin somehow knowing that that wasn't what he wanted of himself at all, "...imagination tells you that there's more to life than dailylife, and that at every turning along the road, one has abnormal thoughts that ones reason keeps both in check and under control...", the goblin paused trying to find the right words to explain that balance between "ones imagination" on the one side, and "ones reason" on the other, and then continued by saying "...what if "one imagination" were like the waves where "ones reason" was like gravity here, where those waves of imagination keep washing up all types of thoughts upon the shore of ones mind, where the gravity of ones reason either anchored them to beach there, or lets them roll back into the sea to be washed up again in a different way with the next wave of imagination, either to be anchored or washed back each time, so this perhaps for me is my mind now, abnormal, well who knows hows other some people think anyway..." at which point the goblin asked once more "...so does one still wish to be thinking "normally", or shouldn't one be wanting more from ones imagination here..."

repost from elsewhere, how now to post on a woman's interests "last post" thread, lesson two

the goblin said "...hello..." and then wanted to continue by saying something really smart, and intellectually awe inspiring, until that very moment when he remembered where he was, and who was probably reading this, so he just improvised the text as he went along, writing "slowly she let him undo each reluctant shirt button in turn to his inpatient fumbling fingers, even now, she seemed to be just teasing him with her eyes while his just burned to an intense savage wanting wildness as he pulled her up towards him gently lifting her up ever so slightly up to bury his head in the warmth of where those unfastened buttons were, her arms touched his back then clasped tight as if surrendering to her own emotions towards him once more" wrote the goblin, suddenly saying "...now, for the next bit, just add more "posting credits" to the goblin's account, thank you ladies..."

the bistro owner's wife is enormous for her short size, and the goblin often looks at her, not so much with some indecent intention, but more as an object for some great hug, the personification of Gaea in his view, and in this adoration, her hug alone would make up for every other woman he knew, and whether, his hands would meet behind her back, didn't matter, no it did matter, and yes they wouldn't, wow at the thought then, which alas is all it could be, yet those were the hugs of his childhood he remembers now

the goblin lets the post write itself, he often feared that if he didn't, it wouldn't, so the simple fact of switching off the distractions, first those obvious ones, and then recognizing the others too, had become an objective in itself here, the bistro was better than his home in this way, yes there was noise, people, and clutter, but they were not his, they, like the rest of it, were happening around him, and not to him, then suddenly, he voiced aloud to himself something looking at the slot, saying "...this life always finds "tokens of value" for one if one doesn't recognize "real value" for oneself...", so the heads in the bistro would turn towards him for a brief moment, before they too, dismissed this as yet another distraction for them

Goblin.. please excuse my absence... I need someone to rub my neck and shoulders. But that's a BIG problem. I now live alone and my hands can't rub it for me where I need it. It hurts to type today..... But I can READ!

"...nothing changes xxxxx, I'm still here to steel you courage and feed you as before, and please don't think that you have to even say anything now, except that when you do post, that moment you'll see that I am listening, oh and how I am listening too, simply where else on the whole of forumland am I actually going to get a post from a lupusbot, and what could possibly equate to one I wonder...", in fact, to someone anonymous, there was no fame nor fortune, there was only this journey together where the goblin would make the running now, saying "...silly you, you'll never get rid of me now, on with our show then, but between us I am not the hero here..."